Newsflash, Eric: I’m already fucking ruined.
I could see the reflection of my steely expression in the window. It didn’t look as if anyone was home at Eric’s. Not yet anyway. But that was just fine. I’d stand here all night long and wait for him to come home, and then I’d confront him. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.
I groaned, running my hand through my long hair.
I hate him.
But then why was there this small part of me that almost relished in the fact that he had threatened some guy over me? I knew it was highly unlikely that he was doing it to protect me. But for a moment, I let myself believe it. I let myself bask in it.
Butterflies were overtaking the anger that was slowly carving my stomach out, but before I could focus on that, my entire body grew cold.
I shook in my very spot. My legs grew unsteady. My upper body swayed.
No.
Fear like no other slapped me across the face, and my internal voice screamed, “Run. Now.”
I backed away from my window that displayed my worst nightmare—literally. He was walking around the front of a bright-red Porsche to open my mother’s door, and my throat closed. One slice of his eyes to my bedroom window had bile burning the back of my tongue, but I had absolutely no time to perform such an act. Vomiting would have to wait for now.
I ripped open my closet door and threw on a pair of leggings and my blue jacket. My hair was gathered into a high pony within seconds, and I was shoving my phone and random things into my backpack at the speed of lightning. My mom’s slurred laugh lingered up the stairs and underneath my door as a stray tear fell down my face. How d
id she have this bad of taste in men? Didn’t she get that sick feeling in her stomach with him? Didn’t she get that sick feeling in her stomach with my father?
I knew she did with my father. But unfortunately, my mother lived in a land called denial, and it pushed her into making the worst decisions ever.
The smooth, deep voice that I’d heard over and over again the last few months was loud as it passed by my bedroom door. He wanted me to know he was here.
It sent me into action. My window was open, and my leg was over the edge. I moved over to the gutter quickly and hung on for dear life. Something sliced my stomach as I began sliding down. I yelped when whatever it was cut my hand too. It burned, along with my lungs that were gasping for air as I landed on the grass below. My ankle twisted, and I knew I was moving too fast, wild with fear and chaos. I glanced at my window and saw nothing but my sheer curtains innocently dancing with the breeze, but the fear of seeing his face had my legs pushing through my ankle pain and all but running over our driveway and to the next house.
The fucker had parked behind my car so I couldn’t leave, unless on foot. It was as if he knew I’d make a run for it once I saw him.
Did he think three months was enough time for me to just forget? Or was he just hungry for more? Fear flew down my spine, and my legs moved even faster.
I stared at Eric’s yellow front door like it was beckoning me with its sunshiny color to open it. And I did just that. I opened it as all rationality left my brain and the cloudiness of poor decisions filtered in.
Nothing really mattered anymore, other than getting away from my house.
I just had to hope I could hide out until morning without anyone figuring out I was here.
Eric was likely back to hating me. And his mom? Well, she probably hated me too. But who could blame her?
Chapter Eighteen
Eric
The takeout boxes slid around on the leather of my front seat as I rounded the street to my neighborhood. I came to a halt at the stop sign and answered my phone, the Chinese damn near spilling onto the floor.
“Mom?” I answered. “I’m almost home.”
She breathed a sigh of relief into the other end of the line as I began driving down one of the side streets. “Oh, good. We can just talk when you get here. I made brownies, and I have ice cream in the freezer.”
I grinned. “Sounds good, but what do we need to talk about?”
I hated when someone said that. We need to talk…but not now, later. What a pointless thing to say. Just say whatever it is you want to say in the moment it’s meant to be said in. No use in skirting around a subject. Just spit it out.
My mom must’ve thought I needed some cushioning for whatever it was she was going to tell me if she was pulling out the big cards like taking off the entire weekend from the hospital and buying ice cream. This was a cautiously similar situation to when I was ten and Sammy got run over. We need to talk, sweetie. It’s about Sammy. But oh, I got ice cream for you. As if ice cream would help me cope with my dog getting run over.
I was about to pull onto our road, but I still questioned her anyway. Half of me wondered if my dad was going to be waiting at the house, both of them ready to tell me they were getting a divorce.